This was written for Exhibit A‘s song lyrics erotica writing challenge. I went with the prompt ‘WHAT’S THE POINT IN ALWAYS LOOKING BACK?’ and inspired by a real-life filthy happening, I had a lot of fun playing with words this evening. It definitely pushed me to explore new ideas. I hope you enjoy it!
The BBC Radio 4 programme Just A Minute has been a favourite of mine for a while, which meant I was utterly delighted at Girl on the Net’s ‘Porn… in just a minute’ blog post. At the end of her post she challenges others to have a go at writing their own porn without hesitation, deviation or repetition. I’ve followed the same structure as she did, writing in a 15 minute time limit (no hestitaion), staying strictly to the story without asides (no deviation), and – discounting little words like ‘I’ and ‘and’ – not repeating myself. Here’s my attempt at porn in just a minute – do I deserve the benefit of the doubt?
This story was inspired by a tweet from @DomSigns and a text from a friend of mine. While the scenario is imagined, the guy I picture while writing it is very real. As finding another name to replace the one that I know him by is painfully hard, I’ll refer to him as E when the story requires it. (And if he’s reading this, I hope he’ll talk to me soon.)
I am not a good person. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of; I’ve made mistakes that I am deeply ashamed of. Sometimes I’m ashamed of my fantasies, too. They’re certainly reflect the thoughts in my head. The pervy thoughts, the dark thoughts, the I-can’t-believe-I-want-to-imagine-or-worse–wank–over-that thoughts. Sometimes my mind takes a single snippet of someone’s conversation and wanders off until it has twisted it into something completely different.
Somewhere, there is a guy who insists that I have stolen a pair of his boxers. I haven’t, but considering the number of times I have held them over my face and deeply inhaled, I do see why he holds this mistaken belief. Frankly, I struggle to understand why he wouldn’t have stolen some of my knickers; one of the first things I discovered when I began exploring my body was how much I love the way I smell.
I have never been fucked in a toilet. I’m not sure this is exactly for lack of trying. Today, while I’m craving sex like I usually crave hot chocolate on a cold autumn morning, my fantasies creep towards the bathrooms that I know are upstairs as I cup my frozen hands around a warm mug in Starbucks. I think about fucking in toilets, and wonder why it’s so much more appealing than the linear matrixes on the textbook page that I should be studying.